The Golden Road
by formerly just a watcher
Summary: The tale of a man with a great destiny unfolds.  Oh, and the Daedric Prince of Madness, too.  Not sure it's wise to forget about him.


Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Elder Scrolls series; all I own are copies of The Game of the Year edition of Oblivion and Morrowind, respectively. All information which I do not personally remember is received from the Unofficial Elder Scrolls Pages; as they are _unofficial_, some help to verify whether the information used is true would be nice. I also do not own the Touhou series; that is a creation of ZUN, a Japanese composer, as well as his company, Team Shanghai Alice. References made may vary among the chapters, so the disclaimer can and will change depending on the content within each chapter.

_**The Golden Road:**_

_**The Trials and Tribulations of the Madgod**_

_**Chapter I: Prologue**_

**Though Lord Septim's Blood Stains the Past**

**Through Pure, Unbridled Effort Lay**

**A Grand and Unexpected Day,**

**As Power is At Once Amassed.**

**Shall that Power stay Unsurpassed?**

**Shouldn't He be the One to Slay,**

**Instead of One Whom Brings Delay?**

**Incredibly, He was Outclassed.**

**But Still, A New Day Brings New Hope;**

**The Elder Scrolls Have Set in Stone:**

"**The Next Scribe Of Us Shall Be You."**

"**And Thus, 'Tis Not Quite Right To Mope,"**

**Said He whose Strength runs Through the Bone,**

**Although More Strength He Could Accrue.**

**-** "Deflation World," _Prologue._

_

* * *

_

It was a simple, pleasant day; deer were frolicking about, people all over would go about their daily business, and some of these people even conversed with one another over contrived and incessant

mudcrab sightings - all in all, a normal, average day for the people of Cyrodiil. Of course, the day was anything _but _normal for the Breton now stirring from his undoubtedly uncomfortable slumber in a

damp, dark Imperial Prison cell, _or_ for Emperor Uriel Septim VII, heading for the hapless Breton's cell even as he wakes, for that matter. But, I digress. What you should _really_ focus on are the deer. Yay,

deer!

Seriously though, back to our Breton friend. At an average height and build, having rather dark skin [for a Breton at least] and with a seemingly constant expression of lethargy, the man's only defining

physical feature, sleepy face aside, seemed to be his distinct hair, a wavy and natural style reaching to the back of his neck, and with a blue tint to it, being such a dark shade that it could be mistaken

for black at a certain light. His first instinct after waking was to look around, examining his surroundings as though he had not woken up the entire time he was in prison, although his search was

abruptly halted when a Dunmer from the cell across from his own started speaking.

"Pale skin, snotty expression. You're a _Breton_! The masters of magicka, right? _Hmph_. Nothing but a bunch of stuck-up snobs with cheap parlor tricks. Go ahead, try your magicka in here. Let's see you

make those bars disappear. _No_? What's the matter? Not so powerful _now_, are you Breton? You're not leaving this prison 'til they throw your body in the lake. Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here,

Breton! _You're going to die!"_

Before our blue-haired protagonist could respond, however, Uriel and his men, the Blades, arrived at his cell, having spent the whole time our hero was up and about getting through the Prison, as I

stated earlier. Showing a fair bit of surprise - the cell the Breton occupied was supposed to be empty - The Blades told the prisoner to stand aside, but Uriel intervened, telling all of them (Breton

included) about how the bluenette was found in one of his prophetic dreams, and pardoning all of his crimes for the moment. Was this really the wisest decision? After all, the man could have been a

psychotic mass-murderer or a child rapist or something like that; there's a reason the Prison exists, you know. Then again, since he himself did not really know what he was placed in the Prison for, I'm

sure he was grateful for being pardoned, regardless; having that annoying Dunmer as the only company in that jail would probably take its toll on even the most patient of people.

Anyway, as our blue-haired friend tried to follow the guards discreetly, he noticed that one of them, a Captain Renault, had gotten killed by the mysterious assassins. He bent over to pick up any of her

leftover items, and noticed a couple of swords, including her katana. Bowing in respect of her job and the fact that her katana might help him survive, should he face one of the assassins in combat, he

turned back, noticing the Blades had sealed the door he was hoping to get through. "Um," the sleepy-looking man stated, before he noticed a rather weak wall to his right getting punctured by a pair of

rats. Getting excited by the prospect of a conflict, he drew his katana…only to get his throat ripped out and eaten by the rats. The End! Guess that Emperor was wrong about that prophecy, huh?

* * *

Of course, being rather savvy, the man behind our bluenette had saved beforehand. Hooray for save states! Going back to picking up Renault's things, our hero was dazed and confused by his sudden

death, although suddenly more prepared for the possibility of rats spontaneously appearing to kill him. Overwriting so that the Breton did not have to pick up the weapons every time, the player forced

him forward, turning to meet the emerging rats with Renault's katana already drawn. However, this did not help, as the rats tore through his meager defenses, dodged past his ineffectual strikes and

ripped chunks of flesh from his soon-to-be corpse. Huh. It was from here that the player ended up thinking, 'Maybe I shouldn't have set this game on the highest difficulty setting. Nah, I'm sure I'll be

fine.'

Twenty deaths, some more rats, a zombie, and an epic battle with a tribe of goblins later, something finally intervened. "Haskill?" "Yes, Lord?" "This seriously can't be our champion, can it?" "If you ask

me, his only saving grace seems to be his ability to never truly die, Lord." "I will _not _have our Brand New, Ultra-Shiny Champion be this pathetic. Haskill! Ready the slider; we're setting this thing back to

Normal!" With a long-suffering sigh, as though unable or unwilling to comprehend his master's ramblings, a certain Breton chamberlain finally said, "Yes, Master."

Somehow, reaching Uriel after fighting those goblins was somewhat refreshing, the blue-haired Breton thought to himself. Although he had used up all of his arrows, all of his poisons, most of his

potions, and was still recovering his Magicka from that duel with the shaman, he felt satisfied and somehow stronger by it. Still unnoticed by Uriel's group, he noticed a couple of assassins moving

towards the guards. Feeling empowered, he took a few of the assassins by surprise, taking down one or two alongside the guards.

The player, although satisfied by actually winning a battle without having to reload two or three times, thought that it was strange how much stronger and more competent his character seemed to be.

Checking the Options menu before the guards had a chance to speak, he noticed that the Difficulty Slider had been reset to its default position. "Huh? I don't remember doing that. Oh well; I was

getting tired of dying, anyway," he thought aloud. Unpausing, the Breton suddenly noticed that the Blades still had their swords out, and were threatening to kill him, thinking him to be another

assassin even though he had just helped them out against the assassins. Thankfully, Uriel intervened again, demanding the guards to stand down, and quoting prophecy and fate once again.

* * *

"Ahem," The Emperor coughed in an undignified way, in order to get our hero's attention. "Um, What?," the hapless Breton responded, having been daydreaming about the outside world as Uriel was

talking. "I was asking you about your birthsign. What constellation were you born under?," the prophetic ruler inquired. "Uh, no offense to you, Mr. Uriel, but doesn't that question sound a little…forced?

I mean, what does the constellation I was born under have to do with _anything_? In fact, for all you know, I might not remember my birth sign, considering I hardly remember my past or anything having

to do with my crimes." "Hold your tongue, boy! How _dare _you speak to the Emperor that way!," shouted a member of the Blades. With an imposing figure and no-nonsense face, the Redguard was

entirely ready to kill the bluenette where he stood, and it obviously showed in the way he pointed his katana at the Breton. An outside observer would notice that the man would have a good chance of

being played by Samuel L. Jackson, if this story was live-action and had more than Sean Bean and Patrick Stewart in terms of star power.

"Not that I wish to get my head cut off by that sword of yours anytime soon, but I'm pretty sure I asked a legitimate question. Also, isn't it rude to speak to me when I wasn't addressing you, Baurus?,"

stated the prisoner in a matter-of-fact way. "Wha-How do you know my-" "_Enough, _you two. This is no time to bicker over some minor detail," the Emperor said, completely ready to drop the subject due

to the assassins at their heels, although assassins are waiting for them at their destination anyway. 'Come to think of it, how _did _I know that man's name? As soon as I saw him, it was as if I saw his

name, almost right next to him,' thought the protagonist in a particularly Fourth Wall-Breaking manner, as the Emperor began to address him yet again.

Getting bored by the conversation aspect, I decided to skip the rest of it entirely. He was born under the Mage birthsign, okay? Breton, Mage, get it? Anyway, the Breton tagged along, killing a few

assassins, getting some treasure out of the seemingly random chests nearby, and slowly gaining some respect from the Blades. In combat, at least. Of _course_ they still don't really trust him; would _you_

trust some mysterious prisoner who doesn't remember his own crime, stole some swords from your friend's still-cooling corpse, and is mysteriously competent enough to kill some of the assassins after

your leader?

Reaching a certain threshold, the group noticed that the gate to the sewers had been barred shut. Realizing it was a trap, Baurus and his comrade Glenroy braced themselves as our hero followed the

Emperor. Within a certain corner, as the Blades faced a seemingly endless multitude of assassins, Uriel beckoned the bluenette closer. Handing over an amulet with a large, deep red gem shaped into a

diamond making up most of its shape, the Emperor of Tamriel ordered him to go to Weynon Priory near Chorrol and find Jauffre, the current Grandmaster of the Blades, stating that he would be able to

find the last living heir to the throne. Accepting of his apparently inevitable death, Uriel said his last words, but finally stopped; the bluenette noticed an assassin had appeared from a hidden doorway

and stabbed him in the back, ending Uriel Septim VII's life once and for all. Goodbye, Patrick Stewart! We hardly knew ye! In this game, anyway; I'm fairly sure he's seen or referenced in all of the other

games (Not counting the spinoffs, at least).

* * *

As the Breton hero roasted the assassin who had done the deed with a well-placed fireball or ten, Baurus finished the job against his own horde of killers. Going up to the corpse of Baurus' friend

Glenroy, our protagonist picked up his katana, knowing that it would give him some more backup in case he ran out of repair hammers and couldn't stop his weapon from breaking. However, Baurus

took both Glenroy's and Renault's katana, thanking the permanently-lethargic-looking prisoner for keeping them in good condition. "Damn, I was hoping to keep Renault's, at least. Don't you know that

katana are always better!," the blue-haired man stated in an annoyed tone. "I'm not really sure what you're talking about, but why do you think we're called the Blades? It's not because of our _shields_,

I'll tell you that much. In any case, you already have a few more swords, so what's the harm in using those? You can certainly take care of yourself even without a weapon, as far as I've seen; you're a

Spellsword, am I right?," Baurus responded.

"_Again_ with the contrived questions? Actually, I'm closer to a Pilgrim than a Spellsword, although my focuses are based more around Strength and Intelligence; my main skills are supposed to be in

Alchemy, Light Armor, Mercantile, Alteration, Marksmanship, and Blunt Weapons. Oh, and I'm also a fair blacksmith, when it comes down to it." "If you're better at Blunt Weapons, why don't you use a

mace or an axe?," Baurus asked, a noticeably puzzled expression on his face. "Because I like to surprise people. Also because I just prefer to use swords. Either answer is acceptable, right?," our hero

answered, as though he himself was unsure of which explanation was correct.

"Never mind. I noticed that the assassin used a secret passageway that probably leads to the sewers. Use this key; I'll guard the place, keep any leftover assassins from following you. But before you

go, I never got your name; can you tell me? I'd like to know the name of the man who we entrusted the future of Tamriel to, at least." "Heh. Well at least you gave a good _excuse_ for this last question.

Sure, I'll tell you; it's -" He was cut off immediately by the yell of an assassin rushing behind and to the right of Baurus; this last man was one who Baurus apparently just knocked out and _thought_ was

dead, as opposed to actually _being_ dead. Of course, our hero, in a moment that's supposed to be showing some badass credentials (Too late for _that_, if you ask me), finished the job. Taking immediate

action, the Breton stabbed the man through the chest with his steel longsword, kicking him off of his blade and immediately burning him with a fireball, just to be sure. "Ugh, this isn't really the time or

place for that. I'll tell you later if we meet again, okay Baurus?" "Hey wait a mi-," the Blade began, but could not complete, as our blue-haired hero rushed off to the sewers. "Ah, damn it. He never even

told me how he knew my name…"

* * *

Opening the final gate between him and his freedom, the Breton breathed his first breath of fresh air in who-knows-how-long, as he stared up into the breathtaking night sky of Tamriel; Stars and

Planetoids accented the sky, which was a beautiful mix of a deep purple and a blue not unlike the color of his hair. Unbeknownst to him, the player had created a backup save just in case he wished to

change anything, or in case anything went awry. But that's not important. For the moment. Yeah. Anyway, the bluenette was about to head straight for the Priory, when a voice suddenly spoke through

his mind.

'**My Master has ordered me to direct you to Bravil,' **stated the man, with a dull yet noticeable Breton accent. **'Nearby, in the center of Niben Bay, there is an island. Through that island is my**

** Master's place of residence; we are in dire need of someone such as you, regrettable though it may be.' **'Regrettable? What's _that _supposed to mean?,' our hero answered, wondering whether or

not he should be offended by that comment. **'It means you are still very weak. Train in Bravil, learn some more spells, and procure as many supplies as you deem necessary; though my Master's**

** request **_**will **_**make you considerably stronger, you will also simply die as you are now. You would not wish to reload any further, correct?,'** the voice replied, as if directly addressing the player.

Naturally being unaware of this breach of the Fourth Wall, our bluenette thought aloud with a confused, "Huh?" After a sigh seemingly perfected over long years, the other Breton commented, **'You are**

** much…**_**duller**_** than I would expect someone of our blood to be. Nevertheless, it is rather imperative that you head to Bravil; you could not possibly expect to head directly to Chorrol, let alone**

** save Tamriel, in your condition, even **_**with **_**the not-inconsiderable strength the Master deemed you to regain.'**

Although once again confused by the comment, the former prisoner replied with an annoyed tone, 'And how do you expect me to head directly to Bravil, when the path to Bravil is just as dangerous?'

**'What a surprise; this is the first inkling of actual **_**competence**_** I've seen in you. Very well; since you brought up a good point, I will teach you a rather essential traveling spell. Take the map of**

** Cyrodiil you found near the dungeons. Look at the marker for Bravil, and concentrate on it while gathering your Magicka. Keep your focus on the marker, release your Magicka in one burst, and**

** you should arrive in Bravil. Don't worry about your reserves of Magicka; they will be fully replenished by the time you arrive. This spell should work on any important place marked on your**

** map, so long as you've been there before, although the major cities are prominent enough features for you to not need that prerequisite. Keep in mind, though, that the time you arrive in the city**

** is based on your Speed, so try to find ways to increase it in order to shorten your travel time. You should also know that you can't normally use it while enemies are nearby, due to the focus**

** required to activate the spell. Did you get all that? If not, then surely I can repeat-'** 'No thank you; I can figure things out from here. Anyway, if I could use that fast-travel spell to reach Chorrol

anyway, why would I need to head straight for Bravil? Wouldn't getting this amulet to Weynon Priory be a more pressing concern?,' The bluenette asked, thankful for the spell yet still curious as to why

he should be following the strange request when the fate of Tamriel seemed to be riding on his shoulders.

'**Did I not state my reasons clearly enough before? It will take quite some time before the plans of those assassins can be enacted, but that is time which my Master sadly does not have; in**

** addition, you are still not strong enough to undertake your quest with the Septim bloodline. My Master and I, along with some help in Bravil, could rectify that for you within a month or so.**

** Understand that you **_**can **_**refuse our offer, but that both your land and mine will die should you fail to help the Emperor's legacy. That is all,' **the mysterious voice stated with an air of finality.

Would he help the other Breton with his master's predicament, or would he head to Jauffre and set out on his main quest? The answer hung heavily as our blue-haired Breton took out his map.

* * *

To be continued…


End file.
